


We Shouldn’t, But We Will

by CasinoLights



Series: Nothing Personal [1]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, First Time, Oneshot, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasinoLights/pseuds/CasinoLights
Summary: “She’s been acting like this for days, and it’s just getting worse. She found a black dress in an old store and strutted around in it, pouting dramatically and then laughing at her reflection in the grimy window. It hugged her hips, the few curves she has, in just such a way that he could almost imagine what they’d look like bare. She found lollipops in a rusty shack, what someone had apparently tried to turn into a mini-mart, and she had one every day, sucking on it and glancing at Jericho from behind her eyelashes with a smirk on her lips as she swirled her tongue around it.”Let’s face it. Jericho isn’t what you’d call a nice man. Hell, he isn’t even what he’d call a nice man. So after weeks of putting up with the Lone Wanderer’s teasing, he just has to let out this pent-up tension somehow—most certainly not with the girl he’s been following and calling “kid.” So when she steps out for awhile, he seizes the opportunity. Only she isn’t gone for as long as he’d wanted her to be... and she has no intention of cutting the moment short.





	

Genevieve’s jaw pops painfully when she yawns, and she grips it with her hand and groans. “Ow. Ahh. Fucking... _fuck_.”

Jericho grunts in response.

She sits up, massaging her left cheek, and scowls at him when he doesn’t even look at her. “I’m gonna look for some Med-X or something. This is driving me nuts.”

Now he glances up, and looks everywhere but her face. She’s wearing that too-thin pink thing she saved from a dresser in a half-collapsed hotel. _Goddamn, but those legs go for days..._

She clears her throat. “Earth to Jericho. You want anything?”

He swallows and tries to look her in the eyes. It’s surprisingly difficult. “Smokes if you can find ’em.” He shakes his empty pack. “I’m out.”

“Means I’m out, too,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “I’ll see what I can find. Raiders always have something good on ’em.” She stands up and stretches, and that slip lifts up, and up, and _almost_...

He turns his head back to his rifle as he puts it back together. He mutters to himself, something about a missing spring, and pretends to look for it.

She huffs impatiently, almost sounding disappointed, and waves over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her.

Jericho slides the rifle off his lap and groans into his hands. He can’t tell if she was taunting him deliberately or just innocently stretching but he’s suddenly _very_ glad he’s not wearing his too-tight armor. He clenches and unclenches his fists, trying not to think about how hard he’s getting as he reimagines the curve of her ass under that pink lace.

She’s been acting like this for days, and it’s just getting worse. She found a black dress in an old store and strutted around in it, pouting dramatically and then laughing at her reflection in the grimy window. It hugged her hips, the few curves she has, in just such a way that he could almost imagine what they’d look like bare. She found lollipops in a rusty shack, what someone had apparently tried to turn into a mini-mart, and she had one every day, sucking on it and glancing at Jericho from behind her eyelashes with a smirk on her lips as she swirled her tongue around it.

_This is not helping._ His fingers twitch and his shoulders tense as he fidgets with the waist of his jeans. He shouldn’t, he _really_ shouldn’t, but he needs that release, he _craves_ it, desperate from all her teasing, and he’s sure she’ll be gone for at least a few more minutes...

He grinds his teeth, unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, and clasps his cock in his hand. Instantly, he groans, and doesn’t even bite it back. He begins to stroke himself quickly—not so fast he won’t enjoy it, but fast enough he can get it done and satisfy himself enough to put up with that goddamn Vaultie’s teasing for awhile longer. He shuts his eyes and tries to imagine a girl, _any_ girl, but she keeps turning into Genevieve fucking Audley. He opens his eyes again and growls, laced with irritation, and starts fucking his hand.

“This... is not... for her...” he hisses between breaths and thrusts, grip tightening and eyes squeezing shut as the heat and tension builds in his groin. God, it’s going too slow. He wants more, wants it harder, _wants it with her_ , but she’s young and inexperienced—if she’s ever done it at all—and he’s just some old raider has-been trying to chase what’s left of his life.

But if she’s teasing him on purpose, then she wants it too... right?

That thought, that one, misguided thought sends him into a rush, and he strokes himself faster and faster and faster until—

The door opens, and Genevieve leans against it, one hand on her hip, the other holding two packs of cigarettes.

Jericho stops abruptly, though his body begs him not to, and his hand shoots to his belt as he tries to tug his pants back up. “God- _fuckin_ ’-dammit, Audley, don’t you knock?”

“Not in the Vault, you don’t.” She tilts her head. “I’m just surprised I didn’t catch you like this sooner.”

When he meets her eyes, glaring daggers, he realizes she’s smiling. Not that teasing smirk, not that cat-like grin—a real, honest-to-god _smile_. “The fuck d’you mean?”

“I almost thought you were _gay_ , man!” She laughs and sits on the bed, crossing her ankles. “I mean, you held it together for a long time! I’ve been trying to get you up for weeks.”

“Why?” His voice comes out gravelly, like he’s yelled all day, and he clears his throat before asking again. “Why?”

She sets the cigarettes down. “Men have needs. I’m not stupid.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you woulda waited a couple minutes before barging in here—”

“You know that wouldn’t have fixed it,” she interrupts, voice low. She leans forward, breasts pressing together beneath her slip just so, and she murmurs, “You know it would be better with me.”

His cock is aching, now. He was so close before, and now it’s gone, and he’s still so fucking hard, and she just doesn’t quit...

“Don’t play that way, Audley,” he snarls. “You ain’t even had any.”

“So what? Doesn’t that make it better for you?”

It takes far too much of his willpower to say: “No.”

“Jericho,” she purrs, “come on. I want this, I promise. I like you.”

“Kid,” he spits, putting emphasis on it to remind her how young she is compared to him, “you need to cut the shit.”

She pouts. Not overdramatic, like a face she’d make in a mirror, but a truly disappointed pout. He realizes she’s wearing lipstick, and he has no idea where she’s found it, but it’d make a gorgeous ring around the base of his—

“Come on, big guy,” she whispers, and he just can’t stand it anymore.

In three steps, he crosses the room and with one more movement, he pins her arms to the bed. “You happy, Audley? You fuckin’ happy? This what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

Her voice cracks. “Yes.”

“I ain’t gonna be gentle. You’re gonna hurt.”

“That’s why I already took that Med-X.”

Eyes never leaving hers, he traces a line down her side, following her body, and pushes past her slip. God, she isn’t even wearing anything under it. With his thumb, he parts her folds, less slick than he’d like... but he’ll fix that.

At the feeling of his finger probing her entrance, she sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up.

“Yeah, see?” he continues tauntingly, slowly thumbing her clit as he pushes his fingertip in and out of her. “See what I’m gonna do to you? I’m gonna wreck your shit, Audley. You’re gonna wish you never started this. I’m gonna make you want more—” here, he pushes his finger all the way inside her and she gasps— “and more—” he slips a second finger in— “and _more_ —” now he twists them, pulling and pushing and stretching her walls, readying her—“until you beg me to let you go.”

She meets his eyes, though she struggles, and hisses between her teeth, “You... _better_.”

Jericho moves one of his hands from her wrist to his pants and shoves them down, kicking them off and letting them land in a crumpled heap on the floor behind the bed with a dull _thwap_. His shaft is solid and swollen and already leaking pre-cum, and he positions it at her opening and looks her in the eyes as if asking permission one final time. She narrows them, but a glimmer of “ _yes, please_ ” shines behind the defiance and he pushes into her.

Her face twists from the foreign sensation as well as the sting of pain, but she grits her teeth as her body adjusts to his size. She measures her breaths and steadies her expression just as he pulls out an inch or so before thrusting back in, further than before. Again, she winces, but she recovers, and her heartbeat quickens as warmth begins to spread from their contact all the way to her chest.

He admires her laid out before him, chest flushed where he can see it, nipples poking at the thin fabric of her slip, legs twined around his waist. The bed creaks as he rocks out of her and in again, blood thumping in his ears and breath hitching in his throat. He can’t think clearly, not with how much he wants to hang it all and slam into her until he’s finished, until she cries, until they forget they’re just two assholes who couldn’t find anywhere else to go, but he hears in her sharp gasps and swallowed moans that it hurts. And despite all his talk, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Ever.

So again, he slides himself out until only the tip of his shaft is inside her, then he pulls on her hips and fills her again with a little more of his cock each time. Out, in. Out, in. She breathes with it, eyes screwed shut—though with pleasure or pain, he can’t quite tell—and carefully shifts her body to meet him as he goes. It helps to drive him deeper inside her, and he allows himself a moment of stupid sentimentality to slowly stroke her hair and slide it away from her face.

She opens her eyes and peers up at him dazedly, confusion written in the creases on her forehead. “Huh?”

He presses two fingers to her lips. “Shh,” he whispers, leaning down over her and bracing himself against the bed with his free hand as he pulls out.

She begins to say something, but she cuts herself off with a surprisingly needy moan when he hilts against her.

“You like that?” he rasps in her ear. When she nods, he does it again. And then again. And the more he does it, the faster she breathes and the louder her voice becomes. Sometimes it breaks mid-gasp, sometimes it cracks, and he _loves_ it. Her sounds, her shudders—hell, even the smell of her hair take their toll on him as he buries his face in her shoulder, sucking and biting at the place where her neck meets her collarbone to make sure she doesn’t forget who did this to her when she looks at herself tomorrow.

His thrusts are faster now, less measured. He knows he can’t hold back much longer. But by the look on her face, the desperation in her voice, and the tightness in her core, neither can she. So he pushes further and harder and faster, over and over and over again, until her fingers scrabble for purchase on the bed, his shoulders, her own hair, anything she can grab or twist or scratch. Her toes curl in and she shivers as the knot of pleasure in the pit of her stomach explodes and sends a shock all through her body.

He grasps her cheeks and covers her mouth, muffling her cries as she trembles and her muscles tighten. He pulls out just as he spills himself, nearly falling on top of her as his free arm wobbles with the sudden burst of pleasure, and his breath is ragged as he tries to return it to normal.

They stay that way, just panting, until Genevieve taps his hand and he lets go of her face. When he opens his eyes again, he studies her expression of subdued surprise, like she isn’t sure he’s real, or that was real, or _anything_ is real.

“You good, Audley?”

After a few blinks of her eyes to clear her head and some slow breaths, she nods and whispers, “I... think you can call me Genevieve now.”

He laughs, more a dull wheeze than anything, as he presses his damp forehead to her shoulder again. “Real mouthful, there. How’s Gen work?”

Eyes still wide, fingers now laced with his, she chuckles. “It works.” She turns her head and gently presses her lips to his temple—and he jerks away from her.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, sitting upright. “We ain’t like that.”

“The fuck was all that, then?”

Jericho grabs his pants from the floor and pulls them on. As he stands to fasten them again, he looks at her and coldly answers, “Nothing personal.”

Genevieve watches him redress and frowns—not angrily, but curiously. “Nothing personal, huh?” she repeats in a murmur, tracing her finger over the new red mark on her neck. “Guess that works, too.”


End file.
